bang
by Bella Ragazza
Summary: and what say you, cowboy... when the one flaw in an otherwise perfect shot is uncovered? quistis/irvine


[bang]  
  
and what say you, cowboy? when the one flaw in an otherwise perfect shot is uncovered? quistis/irvine  
  
  
  
ff8 fanfiction  
  
Bella Ragazza 2002  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Hawk's sharp eye taking it all in, the way slender fingers tapered down from lean strong arms, encased in dark brown kidskin to the elbow. That danged outfit- clinging yet soft, with just a little peek of flat stomach to give a man crazy desperate daydreams about what it looked like unbuttoned all the way...The rose flush in her cheeks matched the pink of the cashmere outfit as she watched him, watching her, with tiny glances from under golden lashes you would miss if you breathed.  
  
Draining the water from his glass in an effort of gaining composure was futile, he could've drank the entire Centran seacoast dry and still had that radiating heat that spread through his body faster than a swig of Galbadia's best fire whiskey. He sighed world weary, leaning against one of the marble pillars that guarded the ballroom entranceway.  
  
She was the type of woman that made you feel about half an inch tall...all over mind you...under her scrutiny. Eyes the color of midsummer sky reflecting off ocean, honest blue that pierced a man's heart like a laser beam.  
  
He watched idly, disjunctioned somewhat from the sound that people make when a million different conversations are taking place at the same exact time. Rich tenors and basses intertwined with lilting soft sopranos, creating a cacophony of humanity. Music from a brass band echoed around the vast room, ricocheting off the glass -domed ceiling and into the merriment abounding. He felt the epitome of the sharpshooter at this moment in his life, aloof and detached yet taking every bit of it in through pools of deep amethyst hue, forever watching.  
  
She shifted slightly, nearly feeling her back turn to molten lava from the intensity of his stare. Every nuance of his manifestation was intense, from the unusual color of those twin glittering gems to the way his Stetson tipped over his head just so, looking for worlds as if he couldn't see a thing in front of his face. Looking out without the rest of them able to look back in. Maybe more than a figure of speech, there was such a gray area surrounding his true persona that even she could not decipher.  
  
Feeling a surge of feminine bravado she plunked down her drink and swiveled to face him, and for an instant it was deadlocked heat and confusion. He raised his long fingers to expertly hitch the brim of hat up the faintest of notches, the rugged visage becoming more visible from amongst the shadows.  
  
His heart was doing double tempo as she turned towards him, golden hair glinting a million shades of honey from the overhead chandeliers. He felt as if this seraph had him between the crosshairs of a gun, the feeling was ironic as it was perverse and it made him instinctively wary. No one had ever turned the tables on the sharpshooter, made him the hunted instead of the hunter.  
  
She felt fear, anticipation and confusion and couldn't discern if it was emanating from him or her own self. She felt power, felt it from the way he couldn't remove his gaze from her own steady one.  
  
One.  
  
Two.  
  
Three.  
  
Four.  
  
You lose, cowboy.  
  
He faltered, screwing his eyes shut for a slice of a second, that blue tidal wave engulfing every space of his mind. The scent of vanilla sugar on a springtime breeze filled his nose and he thought he'd die on the spot from sensory overload. Opening the twin violet orbs once more revealed slender index fingers pointed against the middle of his forehead, thumbs cocked and at the ready.  
  
"Bang." A low, unruffled alto became a whispered nothing as she sauntered by, lost in the whirlwind of hundreds of feet moving in time to dance. A frigid draft enveloped his head, mourning the sudden freak absence of its cover. He swore, raking shaking hands through silky auburn sheen.  
  
She knew.  
  
Unwillingly had found his weakness, penetrating through the layers he wore in an omnipresent fashion, such as his hat. Neither left his person, and now he felt sinfully exposed under the bright lights of the room.  
  
The one flaw in the otherwise perfect shot.  
  
Vulnerability.  
  
He stalked after her, pushing through groups of protesting human flesh until the double doors appeared, left slightly ajar. He followed his nose, his fear, and dare he say it, heart through the dim halls. Through the dormitories, making so many twists and turns he felt as if he were trapped in some bizarre emotional labyrinth.  
  
Row after row of silver doors, echo after echo of kidskin boots on marble. And as soon as it began it was over, the second to last door on the left, wide open, casting moonlight out into the corridor.  
  
Just as if Hyne's hands has placed her there himself, there she was. Casually perched on the edge of the bed, one leg thrown over the metal rung, zippered boot leather reaching the end somewhere around the top of one ivory thigh. Head adorned with black Stetson bowed, rising upward with the appearance of his shadow falling headlong over the bedside.  
  
She stood upon legs of jelly, closing the gap between them until the only thing that parted them was the infinitesimal space the size of a soft breath.  
  
He watched in trepidation as she peeled each chocolate brown glove off one by one, until hands were revealed. Not pretty hued and painted like others he'd seen and felt, but strong and callused and housed capable destruction stemming from the need for survival. He knew them well, he had a pair of his own. Hands that wielded a deadly whip now skimmed the tawny stubble on his face, making breath hitch violently in his throat.  
  
With truth brings submission, submerged into passion he placed his lips to each of those fingertips tripping paths up and down his jawline. They tasted like compassion and tasted of empathy, and as he felt his face grow wet they tasted of his own pain.  
  
It was beautiful, intoxicating as it was heartbreaking.  
  
She felt the liquid salt of his hurt, making short work of them with delicately strong appendages. Drawing him closer, enveloping herself in tobacco scented sheepskin and musk as words of comfort rendered incomprehensible left her lips and reverberated into his eardrums. Words that turned into kisses seamlessly as she touched upon the places crystalline droplets had traced paths, rosebud lips turned bruised from auburn stubble.  
  
Hands that now had a will of their own tightened around the slender waistline, cashmere pliant and sweet as afternoon daydreams under his fingers. Instinctively he found the button sliding easily through the buttonhole, followed by its partners until she was his, all that ivory skin. Firm yet soft, silken yet tough and every other perfect paradox she was as it revealed itself to him.  
  
She divested him, timidness marked by a moment of hesitation, a tremble. Her hands were a thousand butterflies, fluttering here and there until he stood as exposed as she was. A hand snaked to the back of her neck, deftly unclipping the mass of golden waves that came cascading down, sweeping from collarbone to shapely broad shoulders.  
  
He swallowed, long and hard. She glowed for him, from the way the moonlight came in through the slats of the blinds, highlighting every nook and curve of chiseled alabaster. The most beautiful thing was her eyes, full of unspoken understanding that if tangible, would leave her speaking until Hyne fell down to the earth.  
  
Gently he lowered himself onto her flushed form, stifling a rough cry from the feel of her molded against him as if she was made for he and he alone. The woman who had turned him from predator to prey, seeking out the hollows of his body with inquisitive lips.  
  
He watched her throughout, drinking in the way her graceful neck arched against the pillows, the way mouth contorted as she mewled and cried in a language only lovers are fluent. Making love to her was art, it was the beauty that cancelled out every ugly spectrum of his life, wrought every ugly memory into an amnesia oblivion.  
  
His body bathed in sweat above her, eyes never removed from their target. Steady, hot and carnal with undertones of her compassion and his adoration. She reached the apex slowly, intensely, burying her face into the crook of his shoulder. Her name was a prayer on his lips, and how he worshipped as the world exploded into white-hot heat around him. Above. Below. Inside.  
  
Shifting above her, he smoothed away damp strands of honeyed hair that clung to crimson cheekbones. It was eroticism in it's most esteemed form, to see a woman so usually composed come undone right there in his arms.  
  
She smiled, one side of a rosebud mouth turning slightly upwards, showcasing a dimple that dented the left side of her cheek. It was utterly honest and true, this woman at her most beautiful and simply human. He grinned back, loftily pressing a kiss to her forehead. It was need and sustenance and mutual. The hunter finding his huntress. As he lay there, he pressed her sleep warm body to his, deciding that this was most certainly something he could get used to.  
  
Maybe a sharpshooter's life didn't have to be so lonely after all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-fin-  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
whew. Huggles and love to all my quisty/irvy lovers and writers, you know who you are.you inspire me.  
  
Mwah! Bella- 


End file.
